


Viknik? Broomstick!

by elesssar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Witchcraft, ok it's actually not really all that crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:07:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elesssar/pseuds/elesssar
Summary: “Hey,” Yuuri says suddenly, “have you ever…cursed anyone?”“Oh, no,” Viktor grins, “I’m not that kind of witch.”“…you say that like you know people who have,” Yuuri says cautiously.





	Viknik? Broomstick!

Yuuri always knew that Viktor had his secrets. If he was being honest with himself though, he just assumed that it was a Russian thing. The long hair, the crystals stuck onto everything he owned, the proclivity towards nakedness – that, or Viktor is just naturally flamboyant and a bit weird.

Not bad weird, though. Good weird. He’s sweet and kind and hot as hell, so Yuuri does not give two shits if every now again Viktor sighs longingly whilst staring at the moon, or buys ten boxes of dried rosemary when they go to the supermarket.

Once, Yuuri catches him shiftily sprinkling salt in the corner of his living room. He assumes it’s just some superstitious thing, and doesn’t question it. Another time, he walks in on Viktor banging pots together in the kitchen – but since he is also in the process of cooking linguine, Yuuri doesn’t find this overly suspicious, either.

On the night he finally works it all out, there is a new moon. Viktor had mentioned it casually over dinner, whilst waving a bit of calamari around. Yuuri had been about to ask him _why_ he knew the lunar cycle off by heart, but then said calamari had gone flying across the kitchen and hit Makkachin in the head, and the conversation had turned to other things. Such as whether dogs genuinely enjoyed the taste of fried squid.

After dinner, Viktor excuses himself to go into his home office, saying he needs to finish off a paper he is proofing for one of his colleagues. Yuuri settles down in bed with a beer, Viktor’s laptop propped up on his knees. He has some serious Netflix to catch up on.

Whatever the hell paper Viktor is reading through, it takes some time. Yuuri finishes his beer, waits for a while, and then decides to get up and get another. He’s finished his episode, anyway – so it’s the perfect intermission.

On his way back from the kitchen, beer in hand as he pads down the darkened hallway, he notices the light from underneath the office door. It is orange and flickery. This alone is not particularly odd – some people just like to have candles lit whilst they work. It’s just the light of the candles, _combined_ with a sudden bitten-off swearword, that make Yuuri stop.

“Shi – seriously?!” Viktor is saying grumpily. “Would you _fuck off_?”

For a heart-stopping moment, Yuuri thinks Viktor is talking to him. He opens him mouth to call an apology through the door, but then Viktor keeps talking.

“ _Why_ do you keep giving me this? It literally makes no sense? Oh, fuck _off,_ Stalin!”

What?! Yuuri hesitates for a moment, wondering if it would be bad form to eavesdrop on his boyfriend. Okay, yes, it would be very bad form, but Yuuri is burning with curiosity. What kind of bizarre paper is Viktor _reading_ , anyway?

“No, no, fucking no. This makes _no_ sense? The negative aspect of my life is that I’m going to be successful and happy? Man, you guys are weird.”

“What?” Yuuri says, and then realises that he has spoken out loud. There is a short, alarmed silence from both sides of the door.

Then Viktor sighs, and calls: “Come in, Yuuri!” in a resigned voice. Yuuri pushes the door open.

Viktor is sitting cross legged on the floor, hair up in a messy bun. He is surrounded on all sides by scattered cards, a few sputtering candles and, randomly, the potted fern from the kitchen.

“What,” Yuuri says again, blankly.

“I just don’t get it,” Viktor says sadly. He points to some of the cards arranged in front of him. “They’re just fucking with me, Yuuri!”

Yuuri, curious despite himself, comes a little closer. He can see now that the cards are much larger than a normal deck, and they have pictures on them – wait.

“Are those…tarot cards?”

“Yeah,” Viktor sighs, “and they hate me.”

“They – wha – your cards? They _hate_ you?”

“They’re very temperamental,” Viktor explains. He looks down at the card arranged in front of him with a frown. He picks up one, and turns it to show Yuuri.

“See, this is The Devil – or Stalin, because he inspired this artist’s rendering, y’know – and he does _not_ fit in this reading _at all!_ But he’s just _here_! All the time!”

Viktor’s voice is getting louder and shriller as he goes on, but then he stops and takes a deep breath. Yuuri is standing in the middle of a circle of cards, looking down at his forlorn boyfriend. He thinks he may be a little out of his depth.

“Um, Viktor,” he says hesitantly, “are you…a witch?”

Viktor leaps to his feet, scattering cards and crystals left, right and centre.

“Please don’t hate me,” he pleads, “I know it’s kind of…that’s why I didn’t tell you, you know? I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”

“Viktor, I already think you’re weird,” Yuuri says, “but I guess now I know why.”

The shock is wearing off, and now he thinks about it – yeah, it makes sense. Viktor is far too obsessed with his horoscope to be anything other than a witch. Although it does make Yuuri feel rather ordinary – here’s Viktor, surrounded by strange and mystical objects (if potted ferns count as mystical, which – okay, maybe no, but it definitely counts as _strange_ ), beautiful and otherworldly and biting his lip – and here’s Yuuri in jeans and mis-matched socks, holding a Heineken. The two don’t really match up.

“I – I’m sorry,” Viktor says.

“What are you sorry for?” Yuuri asks. He reaches past Viktor to put his beer on the desk (next to the discarded paper), then tentatively cradles Viktor’s face in his hands. He looks up at Yuuri’s touch, and a shy smile starts to blossom at the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t tell you,” Viktor says, “I thought you might be, you know. A little put off?”

“I mean,” Yuuri says, “I don’t understand how your tarot cards could, uh, ‘hate’ you, because they’re cards – but then again, I don’t understand how anyone could hate you, so…”

“Aw,” Viktor says, and kisses him. And maybe it isn’t so surprising that Viktor is a witch, really, because kissing him _has_ always felt a little bit like magic. The fireworks in the pit of his stomach, the feel of Viktor’s tongue sliding across his teeth, the way that he gasps when Yuuri tugs on his hair.

“Hey,” Yuuri says suddenly, breaking the kiss and blinking up at his boyfriend, “have you ever…cursed anyone?”

“Oh, no,” Viktor grins, “ _I’m_ not that kind of witch.”

“…you say that like you know people who have,” Yuuri says cautiously. A little grimace passes quickly across Viktor’s face.

“ _Well_ …” he says.

“Oh my God,” Yuuri says, pre-emptively. Viktor flashes him a brief grin, before rubbing hard at his nose and making a big show of looking out the window. There is no visible moon of course, but Yuuri looks too – just in case.

“Well, see, here’s the thing,” Viktor begins, “when my grandmother was alive and parading around as the village witch, she used to get clients who would pay her to put curses on people. And when I say ‘pay’, I mean they’d give her chickens, or petrol for her tractor or something like that.”

“Cost of a curse?” Yuuri muses, “one chicken, dead or alive”

“Yep,” Viktor sniggers, “for all I know she’s still there in Siberia somewhere, extorting the villagers for tractor parts. I suspect she may be immortal.”

“ _Oh my God_ ,” Yuuri says again.

Viktor laughs, and then sighs as he surveys the somewhat esoteric mess at their feet.

“I should clear this up,” he says forlornly, “there’s no point consulting the cards tonight, I guess.” He bends down, and starts blowing out candles one at a time.

“Why is that?” Yuuri asks, as he bends down to pick up the fern and put it out of harms way.

“Oh, because I already know my future,” Viktor says blithely. He shoves his cards into a messy pile, and starts putting them away in a silk bag he pulls out of his back pocket.

“You – you do?” Yuuri blinks.

“Sure,” Viktor tosses the cards onto the desk behind Yuuri, and then steps in close and backs Yuuri up against the edge. He presses his palms against the desk, well and truly hemming Yuuri in. He tips his head to the side and hums in approval.

“So what is it?” Yuuri asks. His voice nearly breaks in the middle, and he has to clear his throat. He reaches up and brushes one finger across Viktor’s bare stomach, enjoying the way the skin there jumps.

“My future is you,” Viktor says, as he leans in for a kiss.

“That was cheesy,” Yuuri mumbles against Viktor’s mouth.

“Rude,” Viktor pulls away and frowns, “you’ve broken my heart.”

“Are you going to curse me?” Yuuri asks. Viktor hums thoughtfully, examining Yuuri’s face. He removes a hand from the desk and touches it along Yuuri’s jaw and down the line of his neck.

“Well,” he says after a moment, “I don’t have any need for chickens, so I’ll let you off – this time.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my contribution to the viknik fic clique  
> i did this as a joke but i actually quite like it and might continue this au lol

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [it's a viknik sickfic!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770453) by [iceprinceofbelair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceprinceofbelair/pseuds/iceprinceofbelair)




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